snacks

South Africa, 2015

I have an anecdote to share, but it requires a bit of background, so please bear with me until I get to the main point of this post.

In November 2015, our family went to South Africa for a weeklong safari in and around Kruger National Park. While there, we had our most fun — and definitely turkey-free — Thanksgiving ever. If ever I have a choice between watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving day parade or seeing elephants in the wild, I will always, always, always choose the latter.

Early one morning, we all — yes, including our teenagers — got up in the wee hours, had a quick breakfast of instant cocoa and biscuits (cookies) and went out for a sunrise walk in the veld to learn about the local flora and fauna.

Our guide took us out and we walked and walked, while he talked and talked. He was fascinating, even though we were all a little tired and definitely could have used a heartier breakfast. At one point my stomach growled so loudly that I expected a lion to roar in response.

We saw many interesting things, including lion paw prints and other smaller, less frightening animal tracks. We learned to avoid acacia trees because their thorns will tear your skin apart. And we got to see dung beetles in action, I watched with rapt fascination.

Dung beetles stay busy with dung, of course, and we saw a lot of excrement on our walk. Let’s talk about poop because that leads to my anecdote.

Elephant dung, for example, is everywhere, as African elephants produce up to 200 pounds daily. The cannonball-sized lumps are full of grass and desiccate quickly, so the situation is not as smelly and messy as you might imagine.

On the other end of the spectrum, giraffes, for all that they are the tallest land mammal, produce poop that is surprisingly small. Imagine rabbit pellets, except in larger piles.

Accumulated piles of giraffe poop, South Africa, 2015

Giraffes are strictly herbivores and because they are ruminants, like deer and goats, their stomachs don’t have the enzymes necessary to break down the grasses, leaves, and other plants they consume. By the time food moves through all four chambers of a giraffe’s stomach, there’s not a lot left, it’s pure waste, and it’s largely fibrous. Like elephant dung, giraffe pellets desiccate quickly.

While he was talking, our guide scooped up a handful of pellets and walked from person to person, dropping one small lump in our hands. Saying no was not an option, as far as our guide was concerned.

Proof of poop in my hand.

Look, just because I have changed approximately eleventy-billion diapers in my life doesn’t mean that I want to hold raw excrement in my hand, but I did as I was told.

The guide continued talking about poop, poop, and more poop. And then he mentioned that giraffe pellets are edible. Given all the dung beetles we had seen, I understand that certain creatures love to eat fecal matter. Good for them. I, on the other hand, was really hoping for coffee, eggs, and bacon.

No, that’s not what our guide meant.

He popped a pellet in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. And then he encouraged us to do the same.

Let me share a haiku about my thoughts on this idea:

No, no, no, no, no
No, no, no, nopety nope
No, no, no, hell no

This is clear enough, yes?

Everyone in my household, plus most of the people in our walking group dropped our so-called snacks, which I assume were included in the price of our safari, to the ground. A few people followed our guide’s lead and popped a pellet in their mouths. I can only assume that they were sucking up to the guide so that if a lion came charging at us, our poop-eating leader would save his fellow poop-eaters first.

After that, we continued our walk. We eventually came to an open area looking over a wide river and stopped for beverages and snacks. This time we were handed bags with trail mix, fruit, and other nibbles. Not the coffee, bacon, and eggs I was hoping for, but a far cry better than giraffe pellets.